I don’t know if you are aware of the struggles I had this week with your office, so I will give you a short summary before I make my point.

My Oxycontin script ran out on Sunday. On the preceding Friday, my partner went to the office to pick up the script as she has done for months. She immediately recognized that the script was incorrect – it was made out for the short-acting oxycodone, rather than oxycodone ER or Oxycontin. She pointed this out to the front desk nurse, who disagreed with her and would not agree to have the script changed. My partner was willing to be wrong, so after 20 minutes of arguing she decided to leave and get the script filled on Monday (which is when the script was dated).

Obviously, we had to wait until Monday to fill the script, so I started going into withdrawal on Sunday night. It robbed me of the very small amount of ability to take care of myself and do the small amount of income-generating work I manage.

Monday, my partner went to 10 – no exaggeration, we can provide a list – of pharmacies, all of which said they didn’t carry that med. As we learned later, this is because the short acting oxycodone does not, in fact, come in a (amount redated)mg pill. However, most pharmacies won’t release any information about opiate scripts; they just tell you they can’t fill them. Finally, a pharamcist saw how harried my partner was and told her that the script was wrong and that’s why no one would fill it.

We had to wait until Tuesday *night* to obtain the corrected script, which was now three days of active withdrawal. The front desk nurse wasn’t at all apologetic, but was actively snide to my partner. When my partner asked for help locating a pharmacy that would fill it (so she wouldn’t have to repeat her wonderful tour of Hagerstown pharmacies) and was denied rudely.

Finally, at 7:30pm, I was able to take my first pill in three days. However, this was less than an hour before I was scheduled for my sleep study. I went anyway, but I am pretty positive the after-effects of withdrawal affected the results.

I see a pain contract as a two-way agreement, perhaps even a compromise. I agree to limit my choices and behaviors in part to protect your DEA licensing and ability to provide other patients with pain medication. In exchange, I am able to access legal medication I have a proven medical need for without shame or guilt. You agree to provide accurate scripts in a timely manner in part to keep me from undergoing physical risk from withdrawal symptoms. Even in the throes of suffering, I stuck to our agreement, not seeking out supplemental sources.

I would really like to find a way to streamline this process so problems like this stop occurring. It seems to me it should be fairly easy to make sure I receive scripts written for the right medication, and for the office personel to be more understanding and compassionate when I or my partner point out a mistake. At the very least, when it is revealed a mistake has been made, an apology rather than further attitude would be more appropriate patient care. Finally, I’d appreciate it if we could find some sort of timing mechanism so when I need a refill the process flows as smoothly as possible.

I am aware I hold few cards here – my options are to continue to deal with your office/practice or tempt fate by going to another doctor/practice. One of the reasons I fell in love with your practice was your ethic of being the main source of care for me, that you were happy to oversee as much of my care as possible before sending me to specialists. I see myself as a faithful patient, and it really pains me to feel like I’m a thorn in someone’s shoe. It seems like such a small issue, but this incident caused me a great deal of suffering as well as losing what little money I’m able to bring in independently. I’m also very worried the sleep study won’t be an accurate reading of my sleep patterns since I was in full-out withdrawal less than an hour before I went.

What can I do to help smooth this process? Are there other solutions or measures you can think of to keep this from happening? Were you aware of these problems?

Thank you for your time and attention to this matter.

Del Tashlin

Edited on May 6th to add:
My doctor replied within a few hours of receipt, offering a handful of solutions. We are going to change how I access my scripts so that I don’t have to wait until my pills are almost out to start the process. She also offered to address the behavior of the front desk staff at their next staff meeting, as well as make sure they are educated on the difference between long-acting and short-acting pain medications as they are indicated on the prescription print out.

So even though we went through a circus to get this month’s pills, hopefully things will be easier in months to come.

It’s my fault, of course. Not just because I am the blogger in the equation, but because the current health struggle is complex. Probably the most complex since the surgery last December. It hit me at a very inopportune time, and has been one of the most difficult depression triggers I’ve dealt with. I am hanging in there, doing my best to keep pushing and keep living and not give in to inertia, shame, fear, and pain.

Part of why I am writing this post now, why I have come out of the dark, is that I need you. I need allies in my current situation. I need people who know what’s going on to answer the questions and comments people will make behind my back. I need people who will understand why I might be making different decisions, why I might not want to talk about certain things, and why I might walk away from conversations that stir my turbulent emotions any faster than they’re already dizzying me. My work “season” is about to begin, so hiding at home is no longer an option.

Here’s the story, as best as I can relay it. Back in early March, I noticed my legs and ankles were getting very swollen. I had never understood how much vanity I took in having slender, muscular calves and feet until I didn’t have them anymore. I also developed shortness of breath, even when doing the smallest things – I would take the six steps into my bathroom and have to recover. I started having a deep chest cough, so I thought maybe the breathing problems were just a portend to a chest cold/bronchitis/etc. These symptoms progressed, getting more and more difficult to function. It felt like someone had wrapped my chest in an ace bandage.

The next symptom is the hardest to write about, so bear with me. I have these two pairs of jeans that I call my “jeans of requirement” (a vague reference to Harry Potter). These pants fit me for the last ten years, from my heaviest through my medically unsafe weight loss and back again. For some reason, the way they’re cut or something, they might fit differently, but I could rely on them. So you’ll understand when I tried to put one of them on, and could not fasten the button, I was downright scared. I took a deep personal inventory to examine the possibility I’d gained so much weight that they just wouldn’t fit, but in the end I know I’ve been eating well, getting up and moving when I can, and hadn’t been particularly laid up more than usual.

Then we noticed that this was happening all over my body. My feet became so swollen my shoes didn’t fit. The skin on my calves and lower thighs was stretched so tight, the smallest touch was painful. My fingers and arms were also chubbier than usual, and finally when I saw pictures of my face I noticed that even my neck and cheeks hadn’t been spared. I got really, really scared.

I started a new round of doctor’s appointments, and the first thing that gave me a little solace was that my doctor confirmed that I was suffering from edema (swelling), and specifically anascara (swelling that happens all over your body). It is most pronounced in my lower abdomen and legs/feet. It was also determined that my shortness of breath was because of the swelling putting pressure on my lungs and diaphragm, making it harder to get deep breaths. Swelling like this is a big symptom, but it could have hundreds of reasons, so this is why if you follow me on Facebook, I’ve been going to a lot of doctor’s appointments lately.

To put it in perspective: one doc’s estimation after looking at CT scans of my body, is that I am currently carrying 50-70lbs of a combination of fluids in my body. This is not “I am PMSing and feeling kinda bloated”; this is “The pants I accidently ordered three or four inches too big are all I can wear now, and even they are tight.” None of my shoes fit comfortably. I had to buy special socks because normal ones were causing deep indents in my ankles.

I had some hope in the beginning that this would be more straightforward than my other medical mystery solving tours, but that’s been shot to hell. I’ve basically been the hot potato that various specialists throw at each other. And like any other mystery solving tour, doctors find other things that aren’t related to the issue but need to be addressed – one highly suggested I see an ophthalmologist to rule out edemic pressure on my eyes causing my double vision, but it turned out I’ve just had a lazy eye since childhood that no one ever diagnosed so now it’s bad enough to cause most of the weird eyesight I’ve had lately. The eye doc wants me to follow up with a different specialist, but obviously that’s been put on the back burner for now.

Another reason I haven’t felt like narrating this part of the journey is that many, many different possible diagnoses have been suggested and/or tested for, and most of them are pretty major/life changing kinds of diagnoses. Since I’ve already told a handful of people, I guess it’s safe to say that 2 kinds of cancer are near the top of the list right now. But I don’t want to be the boy who cries cancer before any solid diagnosis has been made. I can say that heart failure and/or other heart problems have been ruled out – my ticker seems to be doing pretty well, all things considered.

When it comes to real life stuff, the swelling has killed any sense of self-esteem I usually have in abundance. I look fatter than I have ever been my whole life. Even having seen the images that prove the “weight” is NOT fat tissue didn’t really help. There are places where the swelling is pulling my skin in very painful ways. I hate how I look. I hate how I feel. I hate that my pannus – that part of me that had been cut away – has fallen again due to the swelling. There is pressure on my surgical scars. I can’t walk more than a few steps before the pain becomes intolerable. Although I’ve always gotten dirty looks from people when I’m in my wheelchair (the looks are meant to communicate “If you got up and walked around, fatty, you probably wouldn’t need that chair”), it has definitely become more pronounced since the anascara.

It has not been unnoticed that the one part of me I had come to some radical acceptance with is now the one brought to the forefront of my attention. Is there a size or weight where being fat is less acceptable? You hear things like that from people all the time – “I’m okay with being 240, but if I cross into 300 I’d shoot myself.” Or “I’m okay with being overweight, but I’d never want to be ‘morbidly obese’.” I know that you can’t let what others say interfere with your self-esteem, but it’s also true that these ‘throw away’ comments have to stick somewhere.

Because the universe is a big cosmic joke, I’m supposed to be getting ready to teach at a sacred sexuality event next weekend. I am teaching some things that I am pretty uniquely qualified to teach, but the idea of being at an event about sex and sexuality feels pretty horrible while I’m trapped under all this fluid. As Rave often says, “I’ll just put on my educator hat and get the job done”. But underneath that hat, I am pretty depressed.

Part of what I’m asking for help with is if you’re going to THE Beltane next weekend, or know someone who is. I am sure there will be people who will be asking about my apparent weight gain, both to my face and behind my back. I know some people will be curious out of a legitimate desire to know what’s going on with me, too. But I’m just not in a place where I feel like retelling the story over and over again. Nor do I want people trying to make me feel better by throwing an arm around me and telling me I’m still attractive or whatever. I just want to teach awesome classes, have fun with my friends and play partners, and spend 4 days not making phone calls and emails to my various doctors or looking for rides to appointments. If you can do anything to help create this safe zone for me, I would be deeply appreciated.

(In particular, the owner of the location tends to comment about my weight whenever he sees me, and I am literally dreading what he will say when I get there. If you are genuinely close with said person and can explain things to him, that would help too.)

So where I stand with the mystery hunt is that cardiologist has cleared me, and infectious disease did find an infection, but that’s not the cause of the issue. Next is either endocrinology or nephrology, once I get through a sleep study (because there’s a infintessimal chance that this could all be because my CPAP needs to be reset. It would be wonderful if it turns out to be that easy, but I’m not placing any bets.)

So there’s the update. I am looking for help with two things:

1. A comfortable recliner. It seems that sleeping in a chair is working better for me right now, but the recliner we have is very, very low to the ground and getting out of it hurts my knees a lot. I don’t care if the material has holes or scratches in it, just that it is tall enough for me to get out of easily, and that the reclining mechanism works well. Rave has the exact measurement for how tall the chair should be, so if you are local and want to help us hunt on Craigslist and Yard Sales you can email her at delandrave at gmail dot com.

2. Volunteer Drivers. I’ve been going to many more appointments lately, so my regular pool of drivers are getting a little burned out. I have my own car, which I prefer because I am comfortable in it, but I will ride in other cars as long as they are high enough off the ground. I particularly need drivers the times it is most difficult to find them – between 11a and 6p, Monday through Friday. I have appointments in Hagerstown, Baltimore, Lutherville, and Frederick. The actual appointments are usually an hour long, plus travel time. It is vitally important that we arrive on time, and I would rather be 5 hours early than 5 minutes late. (Not literally.)

Drivers must also be able to lift, pack, and push my wheelchair. You are welcome to do a dry run on a day when I don’t have to be somewhere – you can come over and push me around the mall or a store or something to get the hang of it.

I can’t pay right now – money has been a real issue lately – but I can offer a variety of barter. I can send a “Rave for a Day”, who is happy to do laundry, clean and organize areas, babysit, mend torn clothing, etc. She’s pretty spectacular and multi-talented.

Again, if you might be able to help with driving, email delandrave at gmail dot com.

I’ve been struggling with chronic pain and illness for over six years now. In that time, I’ve come to some difficult situations and choices, and for the most part had no source material to turn to. Being without a specific diagnosis means that there are less places to access wisdom by those who have gone before – I read some that share symptoms or challenges with my reality, but even those who have a name for what’s going on find that there are times when your only choice is to struggle through and make the best choices you can. Sometimes we choose wrong; we do something that makes things worse, or we choose a doctor who treats us poorly, or our behavior during times of stress alienates the very people who want to support you the most.

These lessons are by no means definitive, or the only lessons I’ve learned, but instead I’ve chosen these because in hindsight I really wish someone would have given me advice (or even a clue!) in hopes of avoiding some of the inherent pitfalls involved.

10. There is a difference between someone who wants to help you, and those who want to solve your problems.

The people who have been the most supportive in times of difficulty are the ones who chose to assist me specifically so I could do more for myself. The ones who end up burned out and resentful are the ones who chose to do things in hopes of either doing things for me, or doing things with the expectation that things will get better in some form of permanent fashion. I could continually ask people to scratch my back, or someone could buy me a backscratcher. (And here’s where I thank the anonymous person who did exactly that.) You could volunteer to take dictation when I can’t type, or you can help me find dictation software I like or suggest another way of sharing my thoughts (like a podcast). This lesson taught me not only how to tell what a person’s intentions are (to help or to solve), but how to phrase requests in very specific ways so even those who are inclined towards solving end up doing things that make us both feel good. If I know you’re a “solver”, instead of asking for something nebulous (like, “I need a way to move my legs more without causing pain”), I take a little more time and ask for something more specific (“I need one of those cycle bikes that rest on the floor and have a motor, here is a link to a few I like on Amazon.”)

If I’m unsure of what the specific need is, that’s when I turn to the helpers. Because they are focused on supporting my independence as much as they are focused on the challenge at hand, their brainstorming will naturally drive itself towards choices that give me more freedom and less reliance on others.

I’m not saying one is bad and the other is good; I’m saying that in order to lean on my support system without burning everyone out, having a general sense of how someone feels helpful can expand and strengthen your team. Just like you go to Joe when you want to gossip, and choose to go shopping with Pat because they have a style sense that matches your own; knowing who is best qualified to get your through a hurdle makes it easier to ask and receive with the least amount of guilt. Which leads me to…

9. People generally want to help as much as they can; those that won’t or can’t will make themselves known.

It seemed somewhat obvious to list “Asking for help is hard”, because you don’t need to be chronically ill to know that. What I’ve learned about opening myself up to receive help when I need it is that sometimes the “obvious” choice isn’t the right one. One of my people who drive me to doctor’s appointments comes from 3 hours away to do so, usually coming in the night before and leaving that evening. They’ve done this even when my appointment is less than 20 minutes from my house. I have tons of friends who live closer, but many of them have legitimate reasons why they can’t help out. Before I figured this out, I would totally freak out when I thought I knew the absolute “right” person for the job, only to have them decline or just not respond to my requests for help.

Another facet of this lesson is that although it can be downright frightening to be honest about something you need – especially if it requires large amounts of resources like time, money, or commitment – it’s better to be forthright. Even if someone can’t solve the whole problem, they may be able to help you by breaking the ask down to smaller chunks and delegating it to a larger pool of people. It might be difficult for someone to drive to my house, then drive to a doctor’s appointment two hours away, take me home, and then go back to their house. Instead, maybe one person picks you up and drops you off; another gets you at the docs and takes you halfway home, where someone who normally makes that commute can take you the rest of the way. Or if you need to clean house because you’re having a party, instead of asking one person to come the day before and help you out, you can throw a “pre-party meet-and-clean” so your shy friends can both do something helpful and get to know a smaller group of people before the throngs show up.

Before I learned that, though, I would frequently ask not for what I needed, but for what I thought people wouldn’t be offended by when I asked. I had to learn the very hard way that although it might be easier to ask for someone to drop me off somewhere and I’ll just use my walker to get around; if I wake up that morning and my arms aren’t up to the walker, I’m totally screwed unless my friend is physically able to deal with the wheelchair and has the time to stick around for my whole appointment. Or if I needed money to cover some over-the-counter medical stuff, I would sit and agonize over what I “really needed” and what I could “live without” or “make due”. Usually, someone would find out that I was using duct tape to hold bandages on or stealing alcohol wipes from the doctor’s office. They’d sit me down and remind me that people generally want to help, because knowing that their friend is in a bad way makes them feel helpless. Giving them the opportunity to make a difference makes them feel like they’re really doing something.

I also had to learn that there are people who will tell you many times that you can call them anytime if you need anything, but they are only being polite. In fact, I think one of the reasons that chronically ill people usually dismiss vague offers of help like these is because we’ve learned that there’s a good chance they won’t come through. Not necessarily because they don’t care or don’t want to (although there are people who don’t), but because they don’t have the resources or ability to help in the ways you need. You just get to a point where you know asking is a waste of time, even if you think they might be a good choice for one reason or another.

8. If your friend has stopped inviting you to fun group things, it is sometimes okay to check in and ask why.

If you’re wracking your brain to remember what you might have done to offend someone, because all of a sudden you’re no longer “on the list”, it could very well be because you weren’t able to attend enough other events because you didn’t feel well. Or maybe because the place where the party is a fourth-floor walkup. Or maybe because they know you don’t drink and so inviting you to the bar seems mean. And honestly, sometimes they’re worried about reminding you about all the cool stuff your friends are doing that you can’t participate in anymore.

I tend to tell people that these days, I see an invite as a way of saying, “We want you to know you are wanted”. Even if it’s obvious that I can’t participate, just knowing that when they were thinking of the top 25 people they want to go skydiving with, you’re number 23. Sometimes, I use the opportunity to see if some sort of adaptation can be made so I’m included – my friend has an upcoming birthday bash, but her apartment is up several flights of stairs; I asked her if maybe a day-after brunch could happen in a wheelie-friendly restaurant. Done! Other times, people are being too cautious about what I can and can’t do; I might have to bring a chair and take lots of breaks, but I am able to go to the bonfire in the woods given enough time.

7. If you’re feeling left out of fun things, make fun things happen in places and ways you can handle.

There are lots of times when I’ve been home on a weekend night, mooning over all the cool things people on Facebook are claiming to do that I can’t for one reason or another. And it’s not always about health/ability; I might not have the money, or couldn’t find a ride, or required me to RSVP too far in advance. Honestly, it didn’t occur to me right away that the answer was to take charge and plan fun things that were tailored to my needs. Now that I live in a completely-accessible place (thank the Gods!), I have been hosting more stuff. Not only do I know the place is accessible, but if I need a quick breather or if I get a bout of nausea/vertigo/pain/etc, I can duck into my room for a little bit and let my guests entertain themselves. And if I need to check out of the festivities completely, it doesn’t mean everyone has to leave. I just elect someone to take over hosting duties and disappear into the Del Cave.

And if the fun things that I want to do are location specific (like going to the Drive In), I can do my homework to make sure the place is accessible. I can also set up somewhere to be the Temporary Del Cave, whether it be in the car, in a friend’s spare room, or even the handicap stall. I tend not to carpool, so if I need to check out early no one else is inconvenienced (except whomever’s driving). If food is going to be part of the fun, I can call ahead to see if the food on premises is Del-safe; if not, I can usually find a small thing to pick at and bring food to eat on the way home. Even if I am worried that I will have to cancel last minute, I can make sure that people are as invested in doing the fun thing as much as seeing Del at the fun thing, so if I have to back out I know people are still having fun.

Even when I’m at my sickest, I’ve still entertained guests. I just make sure they’re informed up front that I’m not doing well and they should bring things to entertain themselves, or maybe even make plans to go be a tourist or go shopping at the Outlet Mall, so I don’t feel like they’re sitting outside my bedroom door breathlessly waiting for me to feel social again. That way, we both get to spend some time together, and no one feels mislead or guilty if I need a nap. It doesn’t hurt that we have wi fi and an off-brand Roku device, as well as tons of odd books to read. The town we live in has a few cool things to do, and we’re pretty close to places like Gettysburg and Baltimore if you really want to get your tourist on.

6. Needing a lot of down time, alone, can be spiritually enriching.

At first, any time I had bodily-enforced down time, my gut reaction was distraction. What book can I read, what show can I watch, what silly online game can I get lost in? Those are still good stand-by distractions, but when I’m experiencing more down time than up time, it can feel like I’m wasting my life. It only emphasizes all the things I wish I could be doing, or things I expected myself to be doing at this age that have been replaced with this stupid reality I did not want nor asked for. I start slipping down that greased slope towards the maw of depression. Depression brings it’s own symptoms and challenges, and it complicates your health situation that way. I struggled a lot with depression last year, but what became the rope ladder that got me going in the right direction was finding purpose in my rest. I re-started my meditative practice. I found some great online videos of seated yoga, wherein the guide repeatedly tells you that if a pose or stretch is painful, to just breathe and wait for the next one. I began sitting in front of my altars and just letting my mind wander. I began writing for the sake of writing, instead of feeling pressured to cater every word towards a goal – a new post, a new class, a new ritual, etc. I started a personal diary.

The more I found the usefulness in stillness, the more I began to see bodily-enforced down time as something to look forward to. It let me choose to slow down, even if I didn’t have to, which helps keep me from overdoing it. Even if I’m away from home, being able to find a quiet place to sit by myself and just listen to the nature around me can help me enough so I don’t have to run home at the first sign of discomfort.

It also helped me clear out some cobwebs in my Godphone pipeline. Whodathunk it was easier to hear the Gods when you weren’t constantly doing things or thinking things? It also gave me the joy of feeling the presence of my Gods when I didn’t need them; to be able to sit and commune with them without any goal or purpose other than to be. It fills my heart with joy when I have the distinct pleasure of sharing my life with my Gods, even when all I can do is lay in bed and open myself to them. It has definitely strengthened my bond with Hel, who quite enjoys my company and a cup of tea from time to time.

Just finding ways that make stillness productive in its own way, while still being relaxing and stressless, makes me appreciate that my body reminds me to do it from time to time.

5. Be honest, with yourself and with others, about how much time you can spend with them, and how you want to spend that time.

Maybe I’m in the minority, but I would rather have one incredibly long and windy phone call a month than seventy billion text messages a day. Not only do I know it is very likely I can find an hour to commit to said phone call, but it just feeds me better. I see text messages as a tool of necessity – I’ll be there in 20 minutes, Do you know BobJo’s phone number, Are you free for a phone call tomorrow, that sort of thing. This is also why I am rarely signed on to any online chat service. It feels too demanding – answer now or I will ask you sixty times if you’re still there!

It also means that if I’ve just spent a whole weekend with you in person, I can guarantee that I will spend the next week in lots of down time. I value in person time quite a bit, but I’m also content if it only happens once or twice a year. I understand that we all have busier lives now, and the convenience of immediate communication in McNugget sized bites is undeniable, but it just doesn’t feel right for me. I know this paints me as a luddite, and I don’t care. I care so much more about the quality of the time we spend together, doing things that we will remember and that matter to us, than trying to live up to demands of being always accessible and immediately responsive to all of the people who matter to me, all of the time. I am one of a few people I know who not only shuts off my phone from time to time, but I also leave it at home! Aghast, I know! (It may sound a bit crass, but now that both of my parents are dead, I no longer worry about there being an emergency I need to know about right away. I figure there’s nothing I can do about an emergency that can’t be done when I turn my phone back on, or check my email, etc.)

I know that I’ve been shit about answering email, but I’m making a real effort to get better about that. It’s not going to happen overnight, though. I get a lot of email, and the majority of it is the kind that implies a timely and personal response. I am also working on organizing my inbox so messages don’t fade into the abyss that is “the next page”, buried under reminders that Barnes and Noble is having a sale this week. I decided to focus on email because I enjoy exchanging written words with people; and email no longer comes with the expectation of an immediate response (unless it says so). I find that even if someone assumes everyone answers email in 24 hours or less, as long as I send them a thoughtful response that shows I took my time to think about what I wanted to say, I’m usually forgiven.

The point I’m trying to make here, though, is that no one has the right to dictate how you spend your time but you. Obviously, some kinds of relationships will want more time than others, but even then I consider quality over quantity.

4. “Go to the doctors” is not a solution of any sort.

Often, when I write about my symptoms, especially when I am worried about what they might mean, people tell me to see a doctor. On the outside, it makes sense. But the part that makes me want to pull my hair out is when people expect that a single doctor’s visit will somehow provide anything resembling answers. No matter how much information you bring with you, no matter if you write down your symptoms and questions beforehand, no matter if you’re self-educated about your condition or what tests might be necessary to figure out what’s going on, doctor’s appointments are rarely about answers. It only seems to apply if you’ve been seeing a doctor on a regular basis, have limited discussions to a certain subset of your symptoms, and have undergone tests and studies and what have you; then, maybe there might be some sort of resolution like surgery or treatment. 90% of my doctor’s appointments go exactly the same way; I come prepared to discuss my symptoms (including how they are limiting my ability to live life), and the doctor orders tests. The tests come back, and if I win the doctor lottery the first round of tests *might* show something treatable. Most of the time, it’s the beginning of a long road, where you are referred to several specialists, who all start from ground zero (because they don’t rely on prior doctor’s thoughts or opinions).

One of the biggest issues I’ve faced with the “go to the doctors” conundrum is along the way, someone will find an actual problem. In fact, I’m willing to bet that the more doctors you see, the higher the likelyhood that they will find something. This sounds like a positive thing, and in a way it is. It was good to know I had a giant abscess in my abdomen that needed to be removed. But it also meant that for the next ten months, it was the only thing I saw doctors for. Time and money being limited, it meant that I failed to follow up on tests from my neurologist, endocrinologist, and all the other specialists that weren’t related to the abscess. When I finally have the time to go back to these other specialists, I am always chastised for the lapse. Some tell me that I’m obviously not serious about finding treatment, and tell me to see another doctor.

On top of all of that, when I’m brutually honest with a doctor about the time issues involved, they act like they should be my only focus. I had been cleared for an uterine ablation three years ago (and I really need one), but the problem has always been that I have to schedule it four or more months in advance. By the time the surgery rolls around, I’m almost always in the hospital or about to be, for something completely unrelated. I have cancelled four ablation appointments so far. When I tell my OBGYN that the only way this will happen is if I can get it sooner, they act like I am asking for VIP treatment.

Another example: I saw a new neurologist last week, and I’m pretty excited about working with him. But I told him up front that I’m in a time where I can chase tests and make appointments and such, but that time is finite. I already know I have a new abscess growing in my abdomen, and there are a few other medical situations that are getting more serious. I explained to him one of the reasons I haven’t been able to get a diagnosis is because the doctor takes too much time to order and review tests and by then I have something more urgent to attend to. So what did he do? Schedule a test for a month from now, and a follow up two months from now. As I’m seeing my PCP this week about some stuff I am pretty sure will be determined to be more urgent, I might as well not bother.

Even with excellent insurance, there is a financial cost to all of this test chasing and multiple appointments too. I have to have money for gas, parking, and sometimes have to pay my driver. I frequently have to pay a fee so I can get copies of the results for other doctors (although this has gotten better since concentrating most of my specialists and my PCP through Johns Hopkins, since they have an electronic patient folder system where they can see what everyone else is doing). There are other kinds of costs, too, like spoons. I am worth absolutely nothing on a day when I have a doctor’s appointment, and doubly so if there some sort of test. Although Rave helps me a lot, I still spend time making the appointments, finding someone to take me, figuring out what I need to bring, if I need to fast or not eat certain foods, knowing and bringing what I need for comfort, etc. And none of that even covers the times I do all of this only to find out I can’t be seen, or if the machine won’t accomodate me, or if there’s no point to the appointment because the doctor hasn’t received the results yet. It’s ridiculous.

So yeah, when someone suggests I “go see the doctor”? I just laugh quietly to myself.

3. You are the only arbiter of what you put in your body/what you do with your body, and you don’t have to answer to anyone about it.

I can’t even begin to tell you how much shit I’ve been given about choosing to take opiates for pain management. Or about taking antidepressants (even though I take the kind I do because it also helps with nerve pain). Or about not eating healthy food every single minute of every day. Or about having an alcoholic drink (a single one) once every six months or so. Or about which supplements/vitamins/homeopathic remedies I should or should not be taking. Or people sending me articles about new medicines or treatments with the expectation that I will immediately talk to my doctor about it. And as those who have read the rules of this blog already know, I get tons and tons of people recommending alternative therapies, from yoga to acupuncture or reiki to magnets.

It can be difficult, because most of these people are legitimately concerned about your health and well being. They’re not trying to be obnoxious or naive. It is something they can do that makes them feel helpful. And oftentimes, they actually do know someone personally who has benefited from these choices in some way.

My decision has always been about quality of life over quantity of life. When I found myself breaking down into tears because the restrictive diet I agreed to try denied me the pleasure of having ice cream when I wanted it, (and this may sound juvenile but it is absolutely true) that I didn’t want to live if it meant I couldn’t gain what little comfort I can. I have been weaned off of opiates, and my quality of life went to zero (and doctors made the decision to put me back on, and chided me for agreeing to go off in the first place). I’ve tried to be open minded about alternative therapies, but especially now that I’m on a fixed income, I don’t have a ton of money I can invest in something that only has a small chance of making a difference. I can’t afford to shop in exclusive, trendy supermarkets in order to stick to a nutrition plan, especially if I don’t like what I do get to eat.

I make choices that don’t take my health into consideration. Everyone does. Whether it’s opting to forgo an exercise regimen, or getting tattoos when it may increase your chance of infection, or eating something knowing full well your body will hate you for it tomorrow, or skipping a meal every day in order to fit into that killer dress this weekend, it’s not hard to find examples of people making personal choices about how they treat their bodies that we might not agree with. Just because I am chronically ill does not mean I surrender the same right. I have to pay the same piper everyone else does. A life that is devoid of pleasure, comfort, and the occasional indulgence is practically inhumane, in my honest opinion.

3. If all you talk/write about is being sick, then the only thing people will know about you is that you’re sick.

Being chronically ill or in chronic pain is a very lonely thing. It is full of complex emotions and challenging moments that one really needs social support to endure. It can be liberating to express your inner dialog – your fears, your frustrations, your sadness, your oddly funny moments – so people might better understand what it’s like. It can help when your words encourage others to share similar stories, or even just leave a “I feel that way too” comment on something you wrote in a moment of despair. I would never, ever discourage someone from finding ways to communicate their struggle that ultimately help them face their illness with more resolve.

But before I started my second blog, most of my friends and acquaintances used this blog as their sole source for keeping in touch with me. As I consider this a blog – a place where I have a general topic and all of my writing ties into that topic in some way – everything I shared related in some way to either my personal experiences being chronically ill, or my insights about chronic illness and spirituality and the intersection thereof. However, many of those friends thought this was more like a journal – an accounting of my day to day life experiences – they began to think that I was consumed by illness and did nothing but go to doctor’s appointments and sit at home in pain. They didn’t call or write or visit because they were afraid to impose themselves, what with me being sick and all. I even had some professional issues because of this blog, where people refused to hire me or offered me smaller contracts so as to not overtax me. I realized that the blog had become a real issue, and I had to do something to remind people that I am still a dynamic, passionate, and lively person who has a lot of life to live yet. One of the solutions was to start Sex, Gods, and Rock Starsand take some time to promote it and build a following of folks who were only reading this blog because it was my sole expression online. It has been a real challenge, as making sure I am writing enough to keep both projects worthwhile (and to fulfill the Purposes for both – including my spiritual agreements about them). Sometimes I write more here, and sometimes there, and sometimes neither site gets updated for a while. But in the end, it has helped tremendously in creating a more realistic image of who I am as a well rounded and vital person who happens to also have chronic pain/disabilities.

2. It takes time to accept that the likely hood of “getting better” is not that great; not only do you need to accept it, but those closest to you need to, too.

Obviously, this is not applicable to every chronically ill person in the whole world; you may have relapsing-remitting MS where there will be periods of time where you feel pretty healthy. Or in a year from now, scientists will make a big discovery about your illness and there may be better treatments or even a cure. It’s possible that after years of not knowing what was making you feel so poorly, the right doctor will stumble onto a diagnosis that has known treatments to alleviate your suffering.

But for me, I’ve radically accepted that I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. At the same time, I have no delusions that it will take one thing to completely treat my suffering and sickness. Even if I got a diagnosis, the chances of it being something curable are pretty slim at this point – I’ve been tested for most of that stuff already. When those closest to me string their hopes on a someday cure, it makes me feel like they are not only ignoring the present but that they aren’t paying real attention to my journey thus far. There’s optimism, and there’s self-delusion. I’m optimistic that someday doctors will know why I feel sick/pain that may lead to more targeted treatments, but I also accept that if that happens some of those treatments are things I’m already doing (like pain management) and others will almost definitely take time before they work. I mean, knowing you have cancer doesn’t mean that in a week you’ll be completely cured.

I need people who can dig in and see the reality of today alongside me. I can really only deal with this in small chunks – maybe not quite “one day at a time”, but close – and if all you want to talk about is some nebulous future, I can’t relate to that at all. Deep inside of that optimism, too, there are crunchy bits of judgement (if you only took this more seriously, you’d already have a diagnosis/treatment) and denial (it’s not possible to have these symptoms and there be no singular cause). I have lost important people in my life because they failed to accept the reality of what is, rather than keep their eyes shut tight, hoping for the pipe dream of tomorrow.

It also subtly communicates that the lack of a panacea is my fault – I’m not choosing the right doctors, getting the right tests, chasing the right diagnoses, talking about the right symptoms, etc.

One of the relationships I had to end because of this kind of thinking was my therapist. I sought him out to be someone I could work through my feelings about my medical situation with, but by the fifth session he was so frustrated that my doctors had failed to diagnose my “obvious case of MS” that I had to ask him to stop yelling. The next few sessions comprised of me gently encouraging him to be patient with the process, and when I finally realized I had become his therapist, I ended the relationship.

1. Do whatever you have to do to survive.

I mean this literally and figuratively. Even if you hate taking daily medication (or in my case, testing my blood sugar four times a day), if it makes your life an easier place to live, it’s worth it. If you are starting to hate or mistrust your doctor, get a new one. Ending relationships that only complicate your life and cause you more stress and pain may be difficult, but if it will eventually make it easier to get through the day, do it. Taking a break from seeing doctors because you need to save the money you usually use for co-pays in order to pay rent/buy food/pay bills can be a legitimate decision. Telling your doctor that a medication is on your insurance’s third tier (the most expensive one) and that you need a less expensive option is completely understandable. Finding plans or cards from pharmaceutical companies that will net you discounts on your meds might make your doctor sigh because OMG paperwork, but ignore their huffing and bring it anyway. Asking your friends to remind you of cool memories so you can read them when you’re in despair is not selfish or self-centered. Saying “no” to a doctor is always an option. So is “I want a second (or third, fourth, fifth) opinion”. Refusing to settle for a physician’s assistant and wanting to see the MD in your doc’s office makes sense if you’re medically complicated. Late night trips to the ER because you are in excruciating pain, or having a symptom that is scaring you (like chest pains or not being able to take a full breath) are not wasteful.

Don’t let anyone ever make you feel bad for making the best choices you could, given your resources and knowledge.

Today will be a year and a day since my ordeal. It has been a very difficult, draining, painful year. I have suffered so many different kinds of loss that I don’t know if I can cleanly separate one from another. They have come at me from every direction, from places I would have never suspected, and in ways that only made any sort of sense in retrospect. I spent a lot of time mourning. This should have surprised me a lot less than it did, having struck a complex and winding deal with Death herself, but I’m still a Fool who bumbles forward ignoring all the big “Dead End” signs along the way.

And then, a few days ago, a very small light was lit. I spoke to Hel directly, and the best way to describe what happened would be that I got my “annual review”. We spoke about times when I truly contemplated in the way She had asked, and times when I did everything I could to avoid said contemplation. She showed me in that transpersonal yet compassionate way how each distraction from my Purpose had been removed. It sometimes felt like a student of meditation getting wacked on the knuckles every time they were obviously not focusing. But I learn the best lessons through pain, both emotional and physical, so it’s not like She was speaking a foreign language.

After we went through the Year of Contemplation, I asked if my failures and misdeeds meant that I had to Contemplate for another year again. “Oh no”, She replies with a slightly amused grin, “It’s not like when a new lesson begins, the old ones end. It just means you are building upon the foundation, and contemplation was the first layer.” Oh yippie skippy.

The next theme came to me slowly. I saw some opportunities start to swirl and manifest around me, and having learned some of my lesson, I wondered if this was a test to see if I would give in to another diversion. As quickly as I could, I went back to Her and asked for clarification. I’ve made enough terrible mistakes already; I was willing to risk being told to figure it out on my own if it meant She might share more insight.

That’s when 2014’s theme was given to me, much in the same way that 2013 was the Year of Contemplation. This year is to be the Year of Dedication. I will still spend much time, likely even more than last year, in spiritual contemplation, but I will also be taking on the responsibilities of sorting out what people/places/things fall within my calling, and which ones only serve as distractions or hidey-holes where I can run away from the difficulties of my station. Some of the plans I have for 2014 have already shown how they are part of my Dedication, and other plans have already been deemed unfit.

I am still sorting out one aspect of Dedication, and I think my confusion is because I really want Her to give me a straight answer, and She wants me to find the right answer on my own. When I first was in preparation for the ordeal, I knew that She wanted some form of oath or promise that would bind me to Her. I had first toyed with the idea of becoming Her consort or spouse, and honestly the reason I didn’t explore that further was because I listened to someone I shouldn’t have who had big stakes in the outcome of that decision. But now I am unfettered (for the most part) and the question lays on the table again. For now, I am offering her my celibacy, which is going to be a very big challenge for me. For I am not only forgoing sexual contact as part of this experiment, but I am also consciously not looking or even really fantasizing about finding a new lover. (Right now, I have a mostly non-sexual relationship with Rave, and a few romantic relationships that are not only long distance, but that I rarely ever see; so the temptation has been present to try to find a new dating situation of some sort.) What I understand as the long term goal of this experiment has less to do with establishing a sexual or romantic relationship with Hel, and more about accepting the reality of my life at 40 years old.

I have tried, more than a few times, to establish a “family”. In some cases, I married or created a partnership with a person whom I felt was able and willing to establish a family unit with, only to have the relationships fall apart and with that, a complete cut-off from their life. Other than that, I have tried starting covens, communal families of choice, and other group dynamics that focused on a long-term familial devotion to one another, but most of them (really, save one) have all eventually given in to entropy. I know this yearning for family is partially due to the instability of my childhood; and that has become even more of an issue with my mother’s passing early in December. I have never met my father’s extended family, and my maternal one has become estranged from me over time. The feeling is even stronger and sadder now that both of my parents are dead; even my brother voiced his concern to me that without my mother, we may all lose touch with each other.

I also have always wanted children. I had the opportunity once when I was much younger, but I opted out thinking that I would someday reach a more stable relationship in which to bring offspring. I have tried, both in the unofficial “hey, let’s just stop using protection” path, as well as with a more formal “let’s track my ovulation and basal body temperature and have sex when things look ripe for it”, and other than a few miscarriages it just never happened. Now I am having unmistakable signs of perimenopause, and I don’t have a fertile partner of the right biological sex in order to give it one last try. And even if I did, my life is just not conducive to the responsibilities inherent in having a child, which is why adoption is not an alternative. My best hopes is to try to remain an active part of my godson’s lives, and accept my childless lot.

It’s a lot to give up. When other people were dreaming of stellar careers and fancy trips, I’ve always had a far simpler vision of what I thought my life would be like. I just wanted a stable family life wherein all of the people involved had made a lifelong commitment to love and respect each other, and work collaboratively in raising some kick-ass children. I never really cared about what I would be doing or how much money we had, just that there were both adults and children in my life and that we had a loving, fun-filled home.

Then again, when I surrendered, first to Loki and later to Hel, I never asked for the family package. In fact, I consider myself lucky that I have been able to have the relationships I have experienced in the last fifteen years, and I have fond memories of all of them, even the ones that ended on bad terms. I know plenty of spirit workers who have been denied the opportunity to have mortal lovers at all, so I know they were a blessing. And there’s nothing written in stone that I won’t be able to have them in the future (yet); it’s just that I need to take this time to dedicate myself to the reality I am in, have been given, and to stop pining and/or trying to create a reality that is not mine to have. So the celibacy is less about not having sex (I am still allowed to masturbate, thank you Hel), and more about letting those dreams slowly rot on Her altar. If I were to take time to find and pursue a new lover, it would very much distract me from that process, and rekindle my hope.

And She has said that this is not forever, and that any changes to that I will have some say in. If Mx. Perfect-for-Del shows up, then part of that perfectness will have to be the understanding that sex is not on the table right away – not that it was with lovers in my past, either – and that my calling as Her shaman-and-sometimes-consort takes a huge precedence over any mortal, any day. It means that the tasks and responsibilities I take on this year as I begin to hone-in on what I am dedicating myself to are very much more important in terms of time, energy, focus, and availability. I will have to be very clear and unrelenting in my communication about what I am able to share with a lover, and if they can’t accept that, it’s better we know that up front, than spend a long time both hoping that things will somehow change.

I know that this year of dedication will be a lot of work. Not only personal work in the same way contemplation was, but also actual “must be awake, alert, and able to engage” types of work. My pain has been bad enough for the last two months that my doctor is very concerned, and I am also showing some early signs that I may have a new abscess. But part of what She wants from me is to find the balance between making time to do the things that allow me to be as functional as possible – like going to doctor’s appointments, seeking out therapies, eating well and getting what exercise I can tolerate, etc – but at the same time, not falling into another dark hole of counterproductive nothingness just because I feel shitty. I don’t know where that balance is quite yet, but I will sure be trying to find it.

I have so many other things to write about – obviously, my mother’s death being one of them – and honesty, I’ve started six or seven different entries and I eventually realize that I’m just not ready to share so openly yet. Another sad consequence of 2013 is that I had to learn to be much more circumspect about what I share online, as I have found more than once, someone using my words, my experiences, my life, etc as a way to attack, belittle, hurt, shame, or punish me. Some of the entries that I have deleted were purely emotional responses to such things, and I know that sort of pettiness does nothing but make me look like a jerk – I know this, because the people who did these things sure looked like jerks when they did it first. Instead, I am taking some time to note important thoughts, feelings, and insights, and when I am able to write from a less tumultuous perspective, I will get back into the swing of things.

Still at Johns Hopkins, and it looks like this trip is going to end very unsatisfactory. After being absolutely certain that the problem lied in my kidneys, they have now ruled that out completely. I don’t really understand how, as some of my symptoms are unmistakeably kidney related, but the doctors assure me my kidneys are just fine, other than the small stone that is “in a place I shouldn’t be able to feel it”.

So today’s crazy noodle is some sort of lung issue combined with neuropathic pain. The chest x-ray they took showed that part of my right lung is not getting as much oxygen as it should. Of course, this could easily be explained by the fact that I’ve been having crippling flank pain for over a week now, forcing me to take shallow breaths, but of course that would be too easy.

From what the doctors said, it looks like their plan is to run a few more tests, let a few test results come back from the lab, but otherwise begin the transition towards discharge. They’ve already lowered my pain meds; normally I’d be cool with that, except around dinnertime I got another giant stabbing, burning pain in my flank and now nothing the nurses can give me helps at all. I spent most of the night sitting still in the chair, trying hard to find a position that doesn’t make me cry. Gah.

What really upsets me though, is that the doctors are already talking about how I should chase this problem down as an outpatient. However, and it’s not their fault, but I can barely keep up with all the doctor’s appointments I have now. Between not having a regular driver who can bring me from Hagerstown to Baltimore, not feeling well enough to leave the house, not having the money to fill any more prescriptions or other medical shite thrown in my direction, I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do to chase this down. They’re talking about attempting an MRI again, although this doc says she knows of a few machines that might accommodate me better than the one here. The intern stopped by this evening and asked me a bunch of questions that were dancing around the idea I might have MS: this is one of the most bandied about diagnoses I’ve heard since this all began, but the diagnostic criteria are either a) spinal or brain lesions on an MRI or b) ruling every other disease on the planet out first. I might actually be getting close to the latter, these days…

But I have to say, this hospital stay has been exceptionally hard on me. It’s a combination of factors: I’ve been alone more; every time I feel like I understand what’s happening with, and to, me the rules change; I’m in the “historic” building this time (if you think the 1970’s were “historic”) and the room isn’t as cheerfully appointed; I haven’t been able to eat or sleep like a normal human being in more than a week; oh, and let’s not forget Dr. Laing’s shenanigans. I can’t recall if I’ve ever secretly planned to sneak out of a hospital AMA before.

I also am feeling this crushing weight on my heart because, for so many years, loved ones were pressuring me hard to seek out Johns Hopkins in hopes they would be able to solve the greater Del mysteries. Now that I’m here and in the reality of it, people are constantly asking me why. Or why I haven’t moved on to somewhere else. Here’s the truth of it: it’s really not that easy for someone like me to up and move all of his health care around. I mean, I’ve been in Hagerstown for just about a year and I still have at least one doctor in Germantown I have yet to find a counterpart for. Getting my pain management shit transferred was a big deal (although, another benefit of having suffered through the wean is that if I don’t like what his next move is, I can likely find another pain management doctor fairly easily now), and now I have a huge amount of data here referring to my abscess adventures.

In fact, I debated going to the Hagerstown ER when the flank pain didn’t get better. I figured any hospital worth it’s weight should be able to heal a kidney infection, right? But the more I thought about it, the more complicated it got. We’d have to get all the office info for my JH doctors; they wouldn’t have any of the information about the abscesses; they would have to get all my CT results so they could compare now with before; and of course now that we know it isn’t a kidney infection but something more difficult, I’m glad I didn’t.

I have decided, however, that I am using the next few weeks as a time of omens. There are some big questions on my plate that I have been very slowly compiling data on, and depending on how this plays out some of those questions will be easier to answer. For example, if one of the doctors decides to go gung ho on finding MS or something like it, I would be more likely to invest and take the long route. And that’s all the hint you’re going to get.

But for now, I have to figure out how to sleep when my back and side on are fire.

You may have noticed that I haven’t been as active online as usual – less blog post, no inane facebook replies, not even a “like” on a picture on Fetlife. My Gods put a giant smackdown on my head, and until I’m ready to compose This Great Entry that is, mostly, entirely their idea, I’m to keep my nose out of the Internet. I can give short email responses to timely matters if it is necessary, but everything that can wait, will wait.

I got a writ for this entry, because something somewhat major happened today in terms of my health and well being, and well, this blog originally was a way for me to tell large swathes of people about that sort of thing, so here I am.

The title is two-fold: one, “the jig” being my only slightly explained Internet silence, and the second “jig”, well…is frustrating and good in turns.

You may remember that at the end of my last hospitalization, I ended up with some terrible miscommunication between my pain management doc and the hospitalists. By the time I went to the pain doc to get meds, they had decided that they didn’t want to write scripts that matched what the hospitalists had decided, and ushered me out of the office with even less than a “see ya!”, as the doctor only communicated the end of our five-or-six year relationship via a nurse. I was not allowed to speak to him directly, at all.

Luckily, as I was leaving JH, I had asked my surgeon for a referral into JH’s pain management program, so I only had to find a month’s worth of meds until I was seen there; the surgeon begrudgingly supplied these. Then I had my new patient appointment at JH Pain Management, and I decided that Mistress Poppy had it out for me something bad.

At the first appointment, about a month ago, I was told that they would be reducing my opiates slowly over time. This made sense, as they had reached somewhat ridiculous levels when I was discharged from the hospital; however, my assumption was “reducing to a more normal amount”. (More on this later.) I was then informed that I would have to see a weight loss doctor (but not a surgeon, thank something), and agreeing to that was a non-negotiable point. I tried to explain that I had seen several weight loss doctors in my lifetime, and any time I’ve lost a significant amount of weight I have developed more health and pain problems, but it fell on deaf ears. Finally, I was told that the pain management office wouldn’t actually be writing my scripts – they’d give me a month’s worth, but no more – and it was impinged upon me that I had to find a local Primary Care Physician (PCP – what most people think of as “the doctor”) who would write the scripts for me. Oh, the JH Pain docs would still meet with me and decide the dosages and schedule, but the PCP would be actually doing the writing. I was pretty suspicious of this, but I was assured that they have plenty of PCPs who go along with this scheme, and I should have no problem finding one. (I did ask if they had a list of doctors who “played along”, and was denied.)

Well, it doesn’t take a medical genius to see why this is beyond stupid. The DEA doesn’t give a shit who decided how much opiates someone gets, they care about the doctor who actually wrote the scripts. We called over 20 PCPs both in Hagerstown and in Frederick, and of the ones who actually were taking new patients, and could see me before the month’s deadline was up, only one agreed to undertake this unholy arrangement, but when I showed up in his office he, too, decided against it. He referred me to a different pain management doctor, who wouldn’t even take my call after he found out I was already on opiates.

So my drugs ran out. Slowly, as I have learned over many years to skip a dose here and there if you can help it, should something exactly like this happen. I started calling the JH Pain doc’s office about 8 days before the deadline, and got no response from them at all. It was only when my medical advocate demanded to speak to the practice manager that I was finally, begrudgingly, granted an appointment – in a week. So you were spared a week of me posting self-succoring Facebook statuses about how crappy I felt on practically no pain meds whatsoever.

I get to the appointment today and I am pretty bad off.* This is likely how it didn’t hit me right away when my pain doctor lets me know that we’ve – I’m pretty sure this “we” does not include me – have decided to wean me off of opiates entirely, in the span of one month. I was so focused on please gimme something for the pain and the rocking, doc that I’m pretty sure I totally misunderstood him at first.

But no, that’s exactly what he said. And I guess “we” agreed. So although I was lucky to get scripts – this office has a weird habit of constantly reminding you that at no point are they contractually obligated to write a prescription for you, I guess so you feel doubly grateful when they do – I got the most complicated effing scripts in the history of prescriptions. The instructions on each bottle are a paragraph in themselves. Where a normal prescription bottle may say, “Take two pills every eight hours for pain” or whatever, these say, “Take four pills every eight hours for the first week, then two pills every eight hours the second, then two pills in the morning and one at night on the third…”

I had only enough wits about me, after my weaning-off-Fentanyl experience, to splork the words “Ativan” and “Clonodine” – two meds I’ve been given in the past to treat withdrawal symptoms. With the calmest demeanor ever, my JH pain doc explained that he’s “moved away” from prescribing benzodiazapines, although I could feel free to ask my PCP to write for them.** He did, however, agree to the Clonidine, mostly because it’s primarily a blood pressure medicine that no one would ever use recreationally, ever.

If this wasn’t enough for my poor, withdrawal-riddled brain to wrap itself around, I am now on a mysterious “list” for an “in-patient pain program”. I tried to explain that I don’t have the kind of life where I can just hop off to the hospital for an unknown amount of time, but the odd assurance I received was that this wasn’t happening today, as the waiting list is very long. (Of course, this means that not only will I get no notice on when I will be going to the hospital, but that it could be anytime starting tomorrow until 2020.) The concept is actually kinda cool, in a way that unfortunately reminds me too much of a psych admit: they wean you off everything you’re on, then put you in the program and with a team of pain docs, physical therapists, counselors, occupational therapists, and others. Together they figure out a long-term strategy for dealing with your pain. There is some, but not much, focus on what’s actually causing your pain (as most un-Del like people know that sort of thing), but it might lead to some diagnostic testing, at least.

So where does that leave me?

Well, the last time I detoxed from opiates was, oh, the worst thing that ever happened to me physically. It was done over three months instead of one, with the idea of taking very gradual steps. This time, I have 30 days to go from “holy crap I didn’t know they made a pill with that many milligrams” to “here, take some Tylenol”. At least when I did this last time, I had a different opiate at a steady level. What that meant, was that although the withdrawal sucked really bad, my pain was under some modicum of control. Not so this time. By the end of August, I will be taking Mobic, which is an NSAID, and little else. If this past week was any sort of guide to what life will be like on way less medication, not only did my arms and legs hurt so bad that there were times I seriously thought about wetting the bed rather than having to walk to the bathroom, but my still-healing surgical wound burned so deeply I couldn’t eat. (Which I guess helped the first problem in its own way).

There is an upside, even though it is very difficult for me to see now. Many specialists have turned me away, or blamed my symptoms, on the opiates. In fact, the reason the JH pain doc is doing this, even though I’m dubious that it actually applies to me, is valid. His reasoning is that there is a condition called hyperalgia, where your brain gets so used to opiate medication that the medications start causing more pain, and not treating it. As I still get relief from my meds, I am more than a lot skeptical that this actually applies to me, but even if it doesn’t I’m sure my opiate receptors could use a vacation. Most people who need chronic pain meds take a “vacation” now and again, so their tolerance can lower closer to normal people’s. It’s helpful for people like me, who seem to need a lot of surgery, because there does come a time when they just can’t use opiates at all to treat pain, and there’s not a lot of other options. So by taking a “vacation”, I am future-banking a lower tolerance to pain medication, so any future surgeries will not need the amounts that make each nurse, every shift, look at my file and go, “Um, what?”

And honestly, if there is an answer out there for my pain that isn’t opiates, I’m all ears. I’m not a fan of being on them, and going off of them could open up something very important – the ability to drive. I don’t drive for a variety of reasons, but the first and foremost is that if I were ever pulled over and they thought to run a blood test, I’d be a fucking goner. And there are times when I know my reaction time is slowed down from the meds, and I’m infinitely distracted. So resetting the system may allow me to drive my own car, which I haven’t done for many years.

That all being said, I’m still displeased that this was sprung on me when I was actively in withdrawal. If something goes awry – which it can, which is why many people undergo this sort of thing as an inpatient – I could very well argue lack of informed consent. I probably wouldn’t win, unless my judge has experienced what it is like to be in active withdrawal and a ridiculous amount of physical pain, but I don’t think I’d be laughed out of court, either.

It is very likely that between The Entry They Want and the terrible withdrawal and pain I have to look forward to, I’ll either be on the Internet every fucking second I can, bitching about how terrible my life sucks; or you’ll hear from me some time in September.

*Those who know me intimately will attest to this: I have a collection of pill bottles with one pill in them. In the same way that I hate reading the last chapter of a series of books because the world will cease to exist in my head, I hold onto those pills, telling myself that someday it will be that bad and I will be pleased that present-me saved the damn pill for future-me. This week drained every resource I had, and when I told Rave I had thrown out several now-empty pill bottles, the blood drained from her face. She knows how long I’ve stowed away some of these “last resort” meds, and I spent every single one of them this past week.

**You know, the imaginary PCP I’ve found who will play this stupid game. Well, in all honesty, I do have an appointment at the end of August for a PCP whose practice is under the JH umbrella, so there’s a chance this may work out, but not until after I’ve detoxed from my meds.

It’s been a difficult time. This past trip to Johns Hopkins has left me running on very low energy. There’s been a lot of sleeping, a lot of powering down, a lot of what I call “spoon banking”, times where I purposefully go into low energy mode because I have a lot of high energy commitments coming up, and I want to feel as good as I can when they happen. I’m looking at one of them this weekend, going to an event I’m kinda nervous about for a lot of reasons.

It’s been hard. The wound VAC experience hasn’t been as wonderful as no one told me it would. Basically, to be a little graphic, three times a week a nurse comes to my house to rip out foam that’s been stuck inside my wound, under negative pressure, which has partially adhesed to the wound. It hurts, each and every time, and it was only my mentioning that they used lidocaine when I was in the hospital that the nurse even thought of it.

I’ve started many blog posts, both for here and my other blog, but none of them have grown into anything worth posting. I usually only have a few paragraphs in me before I start to fade, or when all the drugs I’m on kick in and I get all fuzzy and it becomes very hard to focus. I know that people are interested in what’s been going on, have been waiting to hear how I’m feeling and how I’m recovering, but I don’t know how to make a meaningful post out of ‘Ow, sleepy, more ow, more sleepy.”

But even when I’m not actively blogging on a regular basis, I still do check in with WordPress. I read some of the other blogs I subscribe to. If I feel like I need a kick in the pants, sometimes I took at my stats. Mostly I just look at the numbers as they slowly decrease – and that makes sense, as less people read my blog when I’m not writing anything – but I also enjoy reading the search terms, the phrases that people put into search engines that lead them to my blog. Most of the time I find them either educational (I may actually write more about my experiences about both panniculectomies and hernia repairs, as many people come here looking for information about them), or humorous. My most favorite of all time is “If I eat a crow, will I get sick?”, which I assume lead the person to my post about going gluten free.

This week, however, I had a search term that made me ponder. I read it, and it made me think. It said, very simply, “Is Del Tashlin lying?” (I added the capitalization to my name.)

I am not as surprised as you might think I am. I have detractors, and I’ve written about them before. I’ve always been the kind of person that people either really like or really hate; very few people meet me and think, “eh, whatever”. I never delude myself into thinking that there aren’t people out there who have had extremely bad experiences at my hands, or reading my words, or being a part of my life. I know I’ve hurt people, I’ve alienated them, I’ve done or said something that made them think I’m a terrible person.

I honestly believe that’s true of just about anyone. In fact, sometimes it’s easier to find people who think a specific person is a terrible, awful human being, than it is to find someone to stand up for them and speak to their strengths.

When I first met the now STBX, I asked around about him. I didn’t know him very well, and we didn’t have any friends in common, so I was hoping to find someone I could trust who would calm my fears about dating someone so far outside of my social circle. And as the story goes, he had a few friends who I knew tangentially through others (gamer geek circles tend to overlap) who told me he was a stand-up fellow, and I decided to date him. He even admitted to me on our first real “date” that he had cheated on his first wife. I took that to mean that he was willing to be honest with me about both his strengths and his weaknesses, and that was attractive to me. I admire someone who is willing to offer up a full picture of who they are when you’re starting to get to know them. Usually, we’re too busy trying to put our best foot forward, to look as attractive as we can, in hopes of roping the suckers in. It meant a lot to me that he was so honest. It gave me hope.

And before we jump to the end of the story, there was definitely a middle. There was struggles and successes. I refuse to lock all of my good and uplifting memories of our relationship into a box and only focus on how things ended. I am doing everything within my power to continue to see him as I did in the beginning; someone who is neither all-bad or all-good, but a complicated person with as many successes as failures in his life.

In that vein, I’ve asked my lovers, family, and others close to me to keep their thoughts and feelings about the separation to themselves. I have asked them to be civil with him and his new family when they find themselves in social situations with them. Even though many of them are as hurt as I am, feel personally betrayed by the whole situation, because they bought into much of what they saw and felt about him as being not just a good partner for me, but a good person in general. But I think part of what makes that complicated, is that we all try hard to see our friends and family-of-choice as being generally good people. We try to downplay the parts of them that we don’t agree with, or aren’t as pretty or good or civil. How many times have you been in a relationship where you’ve done something to hide your partner’s lesser qualities? I think we’ve all been there, whether it was me explaining away the rampant anti-social behavior of my first husband, making excuses for the anti-semitism of another lover, the untreated alcoholism of yet someone else, etc. I don’t claim to be perfect, and I don’t date perfect people either.

In fact, when I fall in love with someone, I try as best I can to fall in love with their weaknesses, their imperfections, the things that most people would see as negative. I don’t go rooting around looking for them – I know they’ll show their face in good time – but when they become apparent, I open my heart even harder and tell myself that if I’m really in love with this person, I’m in love with all of them – even the parts that embarrass me, or that aren’t socially acceptable, or the parts they hate the most.

Sometimes this can be healing: I’ve loved many people’s bodies when the owner of that body couldn’t. I’ve loved people’s fight with their sexual orientation or gender identity. I’ve loved them as they made choices that would turn out to be bad for them, or bad for both of us. I strive to love beyond just the good parts, the hidden parts; to me, that’s the ground where real intimacy lies. When you can look into someone’s inner monsters and tell them they are loved.

How does any of this have to do with whether or not I’m a liar?

I used to be a really big liar. Growing up, lying was like breathing. I remember telling kids in the new school I found myself in, 4th grade, that I had a metal implant in my leg. Whenever I felt ignored or left out of something, I would go to one of them I had spun this tale to, and would say something like, “My ‘ML’ hurts!” and they would immediately leave whatever they were doing to spend time with me.

I find that story funny now, for somewhat obvious reasons. Now a days, I am terrified to talk about the depth and breadth of my disability, specifically for many of the reasons that I lied about it when I was 11. I don’t want people to be my friend out of pity. I don’t want people to stay away from me because my chronic illness makes being my friend/lover more difficult. I don’t want to shake the “I’m in the hospital” banner too often, lest it start to feel like a child crying “wolf”, and not being able to rally support when I really need it.

I also had to face a big challenge from Loki during my shamanic crisis. One of the things He demanded from me was that I never lie. I can bend the truth, I can embellish for storytelling purposes, I can avoid talking about something or omit details: some people see these things as equitable to outright lying. And maybe it is. But the promise I made was that I would never say something that was out-and-out untrue.

I am not perfect. When I am upset, especially when I am in an argument, I am apt to say whatever comes to mind in the moment, including things that are said merely to wound the person hearing them. Frequently, these things are untrue. In the moment, I find it extremely difficult to hold back from doing that; my passion takes over and my desire to hurt the person who is hurting me takes over. I hate it, it’s a part of me that I see as imperfect, a part of me I would hide from people if I could.

I sometimes know what I have to say in order to get a certain response. People who see me in the hospital sometimes comment that maybe the reason I run into problems with pain management is because I can look at a doctor and calmly tell them I’m in 9 out of 10 pain. I’m not crying, or rocking back and forth, or breaking down. I can be emotional about some things, but pain is no longer one of them. I deal with pain so often, almost always, that it is totally possible for me to truly be in excruciating pain and still have a calm demeanor. With these new bandage changes, I would be completely wrecked every other day if I let the pain take me to such an emotionally rendered place. I need to stay stoic so I can get up, go on living my life. If I let all the pain I feel all the time control my emotional state, I would very likely never get anything done ever, and would spend every single day in bed falling apart.

That’s part of what has made the last two weeks especially difficult for me. I’m not far from that. The bandage changes are Monday/Wednesday/Friday, first thing in the morning, and I find that at least for now, those days are basically “survival” days. I’m happy if I do more than just watch streaming video and use the bathroom those days – feeding myself is a victory. This weekend will be a test, to see if I can heal enough from Friday’s change that by Saturday, I can have a little fun and teach some classes. I’m totally up for the challenge, and I have to be: sometimes wound VAC treatments can last more than three or four months, and I have a very deep, very big wound. On the brighter side, I am showing some small signs of healing already, but it’s not going to be a short journey. I will be working in and through this for a long time, and I know that I am going to have to start making those days more productive if I’m going to get through this mentally.

I understand that I could choose to take more time off, to decide that this isn’t going to get any better and just close myself down until the wound is better. The problem is? I just did that, from August to February. I don’t want to do that anymore. I have a strong emotional and mental need to get out of the house, to get back to a semblance of a normal life, or as much of one as I can handle. I know I can’t be a superhero all the time, and that I will have to make choices all along the way to remind myself that I’m still not “well”, whatever that means these days. But I refuse to just sit in my house and feel sorry for myself and my pain for a year or longer. Seven months was enough.

I also accept that this is the new normal. I know a lot of people use the idea that “someday things will get better” as a way to keep their spirits up and hope alive. I have learned, through the last year’s experiences, that saying that to myself is lying. I struggled in my marriage to remind my spouse that there was no magical day coming when I would no longer have chronic pain/illness/disability, that there was no magic doctor out there waiting to give me a magic diagnosis that was going to fix everything. To me, where I am in the process, that sounds about as realistic as winning the lottery and marrying royalty and living in luxury for the rest of my life. I know that’s not my road, I know it in my bones, and I refuse to let anyone around me live in that illusion, so I have to start with myself.

I have to accept each moment as it is, not as I hope it could be, or how it might be someday. I have to accept that even if the wound VAC does what it’s supposed to and keep me from getting any more abscesses, it doesn’t mean that I won’t still have chronic pain, worsening diabetes, diminishing mobility, etc.

When I was in the hospital this last time, someone I’ve been kinda sorta flirting with came to see me. That was a big deal to me, because I still struggle with being completely open with potential lovers about the reality of my health situation. My STBX really made me gunshy about that; I don’t want to feel like I’ve sold someone a bad bill of goods by convincing them I am more healthy/painfree than I reall am, but at the same time, I don’t want them to think that every single day of being in a relationship with me will be about doctors and hospitals and medical devices. It was hard for me to have my crush there, but it was also important. I needed to know that they understood that this is an integral part of my reality now; that for me, being in the hospital is a somewhat “normal” event, rather than the earmark of an emergency. I needed them to see what it’s like to wait for days as doctors try to figure out what they’re going to do, which is very unlike the image we get from television that doctors are obsessed with just your case and is putting all of their resources towards you until they have an answer. There’s a lot of hurry up and wait in the world of dating someone with a chronic illness.

It’s hard, because in some ways it’s like leading the conversation with your inner monsters. You don’t get the option of hiding it, or waiting until something happens to reveal what makes you less than perfect. From the moment you spend more than a few minutes with me, my imperfection is brutally honest with you. It’s there, in a way I can’t lie about.

Am I lying? Man, I wish I were. I wish I had the luxury of making all this shit up, when in actuality I’m in great health and having a wonderful time day to day. I wish my life was full of all the things I wish I could have, the things I expected I would be doing at this age. I wish I could go out tonight to a bar, have a few drinks, hang out with my friends, and go dancing. I wish I could create a world where this wasn’t my day to day existence, believe me.

But I will always have detractors. I will always have people, for whatever reason, who feel the need to either highlight the honest imperfections I have (which I don’t mind so much), or make up shit to make me look bad (I mind a bit more). But in the end, the only weapon I have to win something like that is to keep on keepin’ on, living my life as honestly as I can, and prove them wrong by just being as open and honest as I can.

So in case you Googled “Is Del Tashlin lying?”, the answer is yes. Every day, Del Tashlin is downplaying how much pain he is in. He is pretending to be totally okay with all of his chronic health problems, and that his disability never depresses him or makes him angry. He lies to himself, all the time. But to you? That’s up to you to decide. Google won’t know the answer.

Delegate Curt Anderson (D-Baltimore) has introduced legislation, House Bill 1453, that seeks to make Maryland the third state to legalize and regulate the adult use of marijuana

House Bill 1453 would create a system to regulate and tax cannabis in a manner similar to how the state handles alcohol. It would instruct the Maryland comptroller to license marijuana retail stores, wholesale facilities and testing facilities and apply an excise tax of $50 per ounce on wholesale sales, with proceeds going to fund treatment programs to prevent alcohol, tobacco and drug abuse.

This is an issue very, very close to my heart. As many of you know, I suffer from extreme chronic nausea, sometimes unable to eat even a single meal a day. Although I am on a nausea medication with a very high potency, even when it removes the sick feeling I still don’t find food attractive (instead, it just reminds me how I’m going to feel when the med wears off). I have used cannabis in the past to great success; but since I’m beholden to a pain contract in order to obtain opiates, I am randomly drug tested with the risk of being thrown out of the program with no more than a single month’s prescriptions (and no support for withdrawal, which can in some cases be lethal). Therefore, I can no longer take the risk of using an herbal supplement that I *know* works, not just for my nausea, but for my pain, insomnia, and neurological symptoms like tremors and dystonia.

Even though this bill isn’t for legalizing medical marijuana per se, by decriminalizing it completely, there’s strong evidence that my pain doctor cannot remove me from the program for engaging in legal usage of herbal supplements, as long as they aren’t contraindicated with my current regimen. And even though it’s risky to admit, my pain doctor has, on more than one occasion, made vague references that he wishes this were available to me, but that the program cannot condone the use of illegal substances. So by decriminalizing the sale, possession, and usage of cannabis, you’re not only helping our economy, freeing up our police force to focus on violent crime, and legalizing access to a substance that does less harm to the human body over time than either alcohol or tobacco; you’re also de facto allowing patients access to a powerful supplement that has been proven to be of aid to persons with MS, AIDS/HIV, cerebral palsy, and many other conditions. Because after all, if doctors can’t deny you service because you use legal intoxicants like alcohol or tobacco, then my fear, and the fear of many others in programs that rely on urinalysis to gain access to treatment, would be alleviated for good.

Even if you, personally, don’t enjoy cannabis, and wish that others wouldn’t use it, that doesn’t mean that it shouldn’t be available to the thousands and/or millions of adults who use it responsibly already. There are so many worse crimes we could be spending the millions of dollars we do on enforcing a law so easily circumvented. And the mandatory minimums are a joke; people with small amount of cannabis get longer prison sentences than rapists or child molester. It’s ridiculous, and has to stop.

If you live in MD, click on this link to send a message to your legislators about this issue. If you don’t, you can put my zip code into the form – 21742 – (it will ask for my street name, if you need it email/FB/Tweet me and let me know) and just tell them about me and my story. It has been proven that legislators vote their conscious in the absence of communication from their constituents; but vote differently if the people inform them they feel strongly one way or the other. So even though it’s a little internet form letter, it still gives them an additional push towards voting the way the people want.

Thank you. I really mean it. Even if you just read this, now you know my story and hopefully that will urge you to action.

“What about Dying for a Diagnosis?” Winter asks, in that way good friends, or sometimes shamans, ask someone about something they’ve been overlooking for longer than they should have.

“I know, I know…I just don’t know what to say. ‘Things are going the way you’d expect’ doesn’t make for an interesting blog post,” I reply.

I’ve made several fairly popular and viral posts over at Sex, Gods, and Rock Stars lately, and have three or four posts sitting in my word processing program, unfinished. (I tend to jot down ideas as they come to me and then develop them in small segments until I reach a stride in my writing and finish a post. Sometimes, either possessed with a strong opinion or a timely matter, I will conceive and write an entire essay on the same day, but most of the time I work in starts and stops as spoons allow.) But none of them are for here; and there are more reasons than merely not having anything earth-shattering to say about my current roost in my medical journey.

And it’s not untrue: things have slowed down incredibly since the surgery. I assume weekly posts that entail mostly of “I’m still healing, still dealing with post-op pain, and the doctor visits have been pretty routine.” Other than one of the surgical drains developing a crack and having to be removed at home (by me, not knowing that there was a significant amount of tubing inside my body – I just knew that the drain was no longer holding suction (which is how it works) and the stitch had blown, so it was going to fall out eventually anyway) and a bit of swelling around the center of my scar that I plan on having checked out by the surgeon’s office sometime in the next week or two, there hasn’t been a lot of dramatic action in our hero’s story.

It’s also not entirely true, either. My chronic pain has shot through the roof, with more days finding me in bed doing the bare minimum I need to get through the day than days where I spontaneously decide to do something like catch a movie or go out on an errand. I was also doing something I call “spoon banking”, where when I have a commitment coming up that will require much more energy than normal, I will spend the week(s) leading up to it getting extra rest and being judicious about what I really need to do, in the theory that if I don’t use the energy now on less important things, I will have (a little?) extra when the time comes. I attended my first teaching gig/event in six months this past weekend, and I think that the practice paid off, as it really wasn’t until Sunday evening when I started “feeling it”.

It was good to get out like that. Not just because it was an important personal step in healing from the separation, but because too much introversion makes Dels depressed, and depression comes with its own tangible consequences in levels of pain, sleep disturbances, and mental health symptoms that only muddy the waters in terms of figuring out what the heck is wrong with me. It wasn’t easy, as it was one of those events where I felt like I was running from one thing to another, rather than leisurely enjoying my first large-scale test of my constitution by giving myself liberal amounts of rest between commitments. It’s a side-effect of being one of the programming director’s right hand men as well as his roommate; should something come up where he needed someone with skills I possessed to fill in, it’s hard not to turn to your lovers and say, “Um, hun, is there any way you could…” Of course, this is not how Winter tends to ask me to do stuff: it’s more like, “Dammit! I still can’t find someone to invoke Water or Fire at opening ritual! And it’s in two hours! What am I going to do?” And like most decent people, if there’s anything I can do to ease his stress and make him feel good, I’ll do it. So my “workload” at the event shimmied up from teaching two classes, to three, to also helping produce a ritual, to being in a second ritual, to judging a contest, to helping him find other people to fill in where I couldn’t, and so on.

But this entry is not about that. It’s about my avoiding this blog, and knowing damn well that Baphy only let me start Sex, Gods, and Rock Stars if I promised not to forget that this was my first and most important commitment. It doesn’t help that I was offered a book deal last week, a collection of some of my more spiritual blog entries, and when I submitted links from both SGRS and Dying for a Diagnosis, most of the DfaD essays were relegated to the category of “Cool Things Del Has Written”, which was to say “Not Really Meant for This Book”. Now, I’ll say that the publisher has offered me a few options, including providing formatting services should I want to put out a collection of blog entries that fit this category (but not carrying it under their watermark), and I find myself once again feeling like I may be neglecting this blog, not just in the writing sense, but also in the sense of it being considered part of my voice on the Internet (and beyond, when/if the book(s) come to manifest.

It’s also true that when I was praying about whether or not I should (or could) start the second blog, I bargained that whereas reading about my frustrations with the health care machine and/or my funeral arrangements and/or the spiritual revelations being chronically ill has given me weren’t exactly going to get me international stardom (or many blog subscribers – I had always assumed that the majority of DfaD’s readership was made up of people who already knew me, plus a smattering of other spiritual folk suffering from chronic conditions who found solace in what I had to say on the subject), SGRS was much more in my personal wheelhouse. I already have a reputation and/or following from my vocation as a kink and spirituality educator, as well as a shaman and spirit worker, and the bargain included the idea that once people found SGRS, they might wander over here to see what else I was writing. And sometimes that’s true; but I definitely have twice as many subscribers on SGRS than here. When a new post goes live here, I get something like 150 people clicking links on social media to see what’s up; on SGRS, it’s almost double that.

It’s not surprising; there are many more people interested in, well, sex, Gods, and rock stars than they are about death and dying. This blog is much more personal, and so it may not be of interest to those who don’t know me personally. But it doesn’t help when I use my essay-writing spoons on developing things for SGRS and only waiting until something major (good or bad) happens in my life to blurt out something on DfaD. I could very well be doing more research, thinking, and praying about the spirituality of illness, pain, death, and dying; which would, in turn, inspire me to write more essays here that aren’t so reliant on knowing the particulars of my medical situation or my history with terrible surgeons/lazy doctors/pain management techniques/etc. In fact, I felt bad when I saw that a small handful of people, upon seeing that I had a new blog with much snazzier and less agonizing essays on it, unsubscribed from reading this one in favor of the other. I’ve also seen a decline in how many people bother to click on a social media link to read what’s here, whereas more of them are inspired to give me a few moments of their Internet browsing time when I’m writing about spirit work or devotional practices.

It doesn’t erase the fact that I still don’t have a diagnosis, after almost eight years of suffering. That one of my primary spiritual identities is that of the Dying Man, the person who speaks for those who are much more aware of the limited time we have on this planet, and the messages we desperately wish those who patently ignore this impending deadline (ha! pun!) would pay attention to. I’ve had “The Five Top Regrets of the Dying” essay a friend emailed to me sitting in my bookmarks for probably a month now, meaning to write something about it for DfaD, but instead I’ve been spoonbanking to go to a spiritual kink event and enjoying the blush of a book deal.

What it does, is it lets me feel like there’s more to me than this. It’s something I’ve written and spoken about quite a lot; this fear that what I leave behind will only be linked to the fact that I’m chronically ill, when in fact I’m a much more multifaceted and vivacious person who just so happens to also be chronically ill. It lets me taste this feeling of being a rock star, even while I’m being pushed around in a wheelchair and sleeping rather than partying late into the night/early into the morning. It comforts me, and those around me, to know that all the information and experiences in my head will be passed on to the next generation, so they won’t find themselves having to rebuild a modern form of shamanism/ordeal mastery/spirit work/ritual creation/etc from the shreds of those who were too sick to take a moment and write it all down. One of my mentors and friends, Raven Kaldera, churns out book after book, not taking any time to promote one or the other for very long, because he too feels this need of getting all the information/experiences out there before his chronic illness takes him (or, since we both believe in the concept of being able to communicate after death, at least makes it harder for us to get the point across).

So here’s the skinny on what’s going on with me medically: I have noticed that I am losing weight at a scary rate again; not only the 40lb weight loss I had on Dec 28th, but more than that. And yes, I’ve gotten my handful of “you look great” compliments, and it’s hard to sift which ones mean “You look really good for someone who had major surgery a month ago” from those that are really saying “You look thinner, and thinner for you always means healthier, right?” I’m still wearing supportive garments over the surgical area, although now I do it more when I’m going to be super active or if my abdomen hurts, rather than every day. There’s a growing swelling around the center of my abdomen that is causing the scar to heal inverted (dipping inward rather than keloiding), and I’m going to see Dr. Sacks about that sometime very soon.

My chronic pain has been a devil to me, and my muscles have been locking up, misbehaving, or cramping painfully much more often than they did prior to surgery. My pain doctor was…I was going to say “less than thrilled”, but it was much more like “really pissed off”…at the drug combination I was given by Johns Hopkins (although I did mention that JH tried to contact his office many, many times, both to get his consult on what to give me, as well as to secure that it was okay to release me on that combo, to no avail). And it’s not helping as much as you’d think. I mean, it is helping with the surgical pain for the most part, but my chronic pain eclipses it. I’m very worried, because there are three tiers of pain management – think of it this way: there is “have some occasional Vicodin for when things get really bad, but mostly rely on NSAIDs to get through it”, there is “okay, here is some OxyContin, and have this other narcotic when things get really bad” (which is where I’m currently at), and then there’s “We need to start talking about permanent pain management options, like implants or lifelong narcotic plans”. Basically, I’m at the place where if I get anything stronger to help with my pain, it will be considered going from tier 2 to tier 3, and there’s nothing above that. So if I accept going to tier 3 now, if things get worse as I age, or if I grow a tolerance to the tier 3 treatments, there’s nowhere else to turn but learning to accept a very painful reality. So there’s really nothing he can do to help manage it, except offer up lifestyle changes.

I am looking into getting a mobility scooter (y’know, rather than a Vespa) in hopes that by the summertime, where I do a lot of events at a local campground, I will be able to get around independently rather having to rely on golf carts to get around. (Renting a golf cart just for my own purposes is rather expensive, even just for a weekend, and hoping that one that is being used as the camp-wide “taxi” will get me around in a timely manner has been..less than optimal, as a teacher/presenter/busy person. There are also places a golf cart isn’t allowed to go, that I’m hoping I may be able to access on a personal scooter.) It will also mean that I won’t need someone to push me around unless wherever I’m going makes bringing a scooter with me impractical or impossible. This weekend really drove home how dependent I am when I’m using a manual wheelchair I can’t self-propel; twice I was trapped in my hotel room because the person I relied on to get me around was unable to do so. It wasn’t their fault – in one case, poor Rave had been running herself ragged and really just needed a nap, which was completely reasonable – but it is a somewhat terrifying feeling when you really want to go somewhere but you can’t do it because no one can help you. Having a scooter would make both the camping events easier, as well as the hotel ones, as the model I’m looking at is built to handle both. I just need to hope my insurance will cover it – which it probably will – and I can get it settled in time.

I’m also thinking about alternative forms of pain management, but it’s hard. I really feel that acupuncture didn’t help, and the therapist I was seeing is someone in whom I have full faith in their abilities. I’ve been told that sometimes you need to shop around to different “schools” of acupuncture (there are several different techniques), and maybe a different one would be more useful. I’d give my left arm to find a massage therapist, but as I’ve said earlier, current none will treat me because of the infection issues. (Which I still find incredible on a long-view basis – since all the ones I spoke to, I told I would just have to rely on amateurs who were willing to rub my muscles, and who wanted to learn better techniques so they could help, and they were fine with that, but they weren’t willing to work with me professionally – but I totally get it from a smaller-view, as it was a ‘cover your ass’ move on their part.) I’ve been working on learning some basic stretching exercises, and moving around a little bit each day with intent, in hopes that maybe something like chair-yoga or chi-gong might be useful in loosing up my spastic muscles. It’s just difficult because I’ve tried so many of these ideas before, in a variety of ways, and they’ve never done more than given me a few hours relief, if that.

Okay, I’m out of blogging spoons now. I’m half-slumped over and my hips hurt from sitting upright. But there, Winter and Baphy, I’ve written a Dying for a Diagnosis post. Now let’s just see if I can keep finding interesting things to say.

I get comments sometimes that this blog has turned into one gripe after another about how negative my life is; a “bitch fest”, “too much focus on the negative, and not enough positive thinking”, etc. So I thought since I’m having a pretty red-letter day that I would take a moment to let all of you know some of the positive things that are going on in my life.

First and foremost, when I was seen for my post-hospital stay follow up, my surgery team jointly decided that there was no need for me to be seen again until my pre-surgery appointment on December 14th. This is great news, and basically turned 4 appointments into one. We decided to leave the drain in until surgery, both to reduce the number of appointments and also to keep the abscess from cultivating more ick before it’s surgically excised.

We’ve found a great service that we’re going to be using to control all the informational traffic around the surgery and aftermath; rather than litter social media and having multiple phone trees, we’re using Wiggio as our sole information stream. We chose Wiggio because it has a ton of features that will be useful for us, including the ability to send mass text messages, have a shared calendar to schedule visits, project folders to organize different things that I or Rave will need help with, and lots more. The way the Wiggio works, you need to send us an email at delandrave@gmail.com to request an invite; we did this so we can know everyone who is on the group and make sure people who are on there are more than just passively interested in what’s going on. There will be some posts made to social media, so if all you want to know is if I’m out of surgery or ICU, there will likely be posts to that effect eventually. On the other hand, if you want to be actively involved in helping Rave with things during my hospital stay, or want up-to-the-minute information on my situation, please feel free to ask us for an invite. If you’re not someone we already know, you may want to include some information as to how you know me and how you expect to be helpful, so we have some idea. Like I said, we want to make sure everyone who is on the Wiggio is someone we trust to be an active partner in what is happening.

In that vein, the house that we’ve been affectionately referring to as “The Squat” is on the market, and the arrangement was that we could stay here until it sells. Well, an offer has been made, and if the bank accepts it, we have 45 days to vacate the premises. But fortunately, we found a perfect place for us right in southeastern Frederick; Rave went to tour the house today and found it to be old and a little beat up, but otherwise totally awesome. It’s on a 41 acre horse farm, a four bedroom house with a master bedroom/kitchen/full bath all on the first floor. I love that we’ll have space for two guest rooms, which will double as a sewing room for Rave and an altar room for me. We should be getting an application tomorrow; we tried to make a deposit because the landlady said she’s had a LOT of interest, but she wouldn’t accept it. So for now, we just ask that you keep your everythings crossed that the application goes through with flying colors and we can solidify a place to live. It would mean a large burden off of both of our shoulders, so we can focus on the surgery without having to split that focus with the arduous task for finding a place to live.

And what’s made that all workable has been the incredibly wonderful response to our request for help. We’ve received so many packages from my Amazon wish list, and a blessed amount of financial assistance. We have enough to make a good deposit on the house, should we pass the application. However, we can always use more help, so if you haven’t had a chance to check it out, please take a look at my entry detailing the many ways you can be of assistance to us.

That’s not all! Rave went down to my old house to pick up some belongings and happened to find a piece of mail I have been waiting on for four months! Yes, that’s right, my name change has been approved, no court date needed! I am so incredibly pleased that my name is finally my own in all senses; I have been told by my Gods that I am *never* to change it again, no matter what. I finally have a name I chose for myself, one that represents who I am and how I move in the world. I took my long-time nickname and nom de plume, “Del”, as my first name. I kept the middle name my parents gave me, because it’s pretty awesome and also as a tie to my familial line, so it stays “Astra”. Finally, I was able to shed myself of my STBX’s last name (which I wasn’t thrilled about taking in the first place, but did it as a token of my love and devotion to him) and take my Clan’s name, something I’ve been wanting to do for quite some time but my STBX was totally against. So my full legal name, which I am unafraid to post on the Internet, is Del Astra Tashlin.

Another great thing is that I am now on a course of drugs to finally treat my latent tuberculosis, and I haven’t had any withdrawal or other terrible side effects. I, by no means, am trying to say it’s been a walk in the park, especially combined with all the antibiotics and other meds I’m on, but it’s nothing like when I tried the Rifampin, twice, so I am so pleased that someday, I will be TB free.

So in all, things have been looking up here at The Squat. We’ve finally hit a streak of good news, tons of support from our friends and family, and are preparing for a surgery that, although it won’t heal *all* the problems I face, will significantly reduce my suffering (especially in terms of infections and repeated hernia surgeries) for some time. There is hope that while I’m in the hospital, they will be able to run a battery of tests to help discover why my immune system seems to be so suppressed/why I seem to get every infection that walks by, as well as possibly transfer my pain management to an office closer to where I live now (the one I currently see is now over three hours away!), and also get more Johns Hopkins doctors interested in my case so I can get some integrated care – where the ID doc knows what tests the neurologist ran, and the pain management doctor can talk to my surgeon about how to administer meds so my chronic *and* acute pain can be treated simultaneously, and the like. This is all very exciting, and a really good reason to live, which is the real thing I’ve been looking for these past four months.

Thank you to all the Gods and Spirits who have been with me patiently while I thrashed through my suffering! May they stay beside me through the trials ahead, but also be able to celebrate with me all the good things that have come into my life! Thank you to all the people who have done the same!